


And the Dragon Fought Back

by AvatarofJord



Series: Watchmen on the Rim [1]
Category: Pacific Rim (2013), Watchmen - All Media Types
Genre: Adrian Veidt is a dick, F/M, Giant Robots, Kaiju (Pacific Rim), M/M, Masturbation, OT3, On Hiatus, Pacific Rim AU, Slash, Watchmen AU, and poor descriptions of those, bad descriptions of drifting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-30
Updated: 2016-02-07
Packaged: 2018-04-28 21:39:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5106653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvatarofJord/pseuds/AvatarofJord
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the giant inter-dimensional alien destroys New York in 1985 it's horrible. But singular. At least that's what everyone thought. A year later the breach opens in the Pacific spewing forth something even more terrible - Kaiju.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this is the first fic i have written in YEARS. But when i saw the prompt floating out there in the ether somewhere I had to write it. So this might be OK, it might also be utter trash, you decide. anything in italics is either thinking or a flashback or both.

It’s November 3, 1986 when it happens. Just barely long enough for New York to bury their dead, clean their streets and begin to set their lives back in order. But that’s how things always go. Adrian Veidt is in his office, and when he hears the news he can scarcely believe it. It shouldn’t be possible, and yet the images splayed across his television are live coverage. Another interdimensional monster has been sighted, this time in San Francisco. The creature is so large it’s bulky, grey body doesn’t fit in a single shot and it makes his monster look like an amature with the level of destruction left in it wake. This was not what he wanted. This was not how it was supposed to happen.

***  
It’s cold, submerged here, where the only thing he can hear is his own blood, pumping through his ears. No breath, no sound, numbness sinking into him. It’s better like this, and he wonders if he stayed here, would he die. He wishes he would, at least on some level. He had been prepared to die, to rest, finally, after years of trudging through unrepentant filth only to discover that the road had no end and no way back. Antarctica. Karnak. A year ago, although it still feels like yesterday, Rorschach had stood in the snow face to face with a god and goaded him. When Manhattan had lifted his hand, Rorschach knew his life was over. He had felt relief, for the first time in a long life time. Except he didn’t die. Or maybe it's more accurate to say his body didn't die. 

When his lungs begin to burn, Walter Kovacs pulls his head from the dingy sink in their most recent motel bathroom. He sucks his first gulp of air in almost a minute and lets it rush back out. It feels good to breath and he hates it. The mirror over the sink is cracked on the edges but not enough to obscure his reflection and the fluorescent light casts a sickly pallor about his skin. He hates this face, lined, freckled, pockmarked, and ugly, even if it is the only face appropriate now. Rorschach died in the snow a year ago and Walter had woken up in his place, naked, terrified and confused. The confusion hadn’t abated.

In the other room he can hear the television, a news broadcast, but it holds little interest for him. City news, from a city whose name he disregarded, full of people he doesn't care about. If he’s honest Rorschach never really cared about anyone-Justice didn’t require he care about the victim, scum deserved to be punished and that was all that was necessary. No, the only person he ever cared about is sitting in the next room, watching the enane programing, and Walter is hiding from him in the bathroom. Well, he’s not actually hiding from Daniel, more like hiding from the sight of Daniel and Laurel. Laurie. Silk Spectre. 

“Whore,” he mumbles, and hopes Daniel isn’t listening at the door. There is a nail brush on the sink and he picks it up, scrubbing at his fingernails and palms. He’d never been concerned with his hygiene before Antarctica, had been more concerned with the fluoride in the water, and he worries at what else he might find changed about himself. After last night he worries that he’ll never feel clean again. 

It was all her fault. He’d made it a year, one whole year, before his traitorous hands had had to touch, before his eyes had had to see. Weak, pathetic and weak. Degenerate. But Walter always had been, and a part of him believes Laurel had seen it early. Perhaps deviance recognized deviance. He scrubs harder at his hands, but knows short of pulling the skin off they won’t be clean. And even if he can scrub his hands clean, his mind is tainted. Memories of previous evenings, and last night in particular, all crowded together like passengers in a subway car, pressing against the front of his skull and demanding attention. He doesn't want to think about last night, but finds he can't escape it. 

_He was supposed to be asleep. Had been, til a breathy sigh from the other bed had pulled him into wide eyed wakefulness. He isn’t one to linger in the foggy place between being awake and being asleep, and he almost sits up with a jolt at being roused so suddenly. He doesn’t, manages to remain prone and pretending to be asleep. His hands are clenched into fists, and his jaw is set, eyes forward staring at the blank wall. Another gasp, this time noticeably male, and he’s grinding his teeth._

_They always wait til they think he is asleep, for which Walter is immensely grateful. Laurie isn’t shy, but Daniel doesn’t want to offend his friend’s sensibilities, especially as he is the one who won't allow them separate rooms. Too afraid of letting Walter out of his sight for even an evening. It isn’t usually a problem, but tonight every stuttered breath and choked whine feels like it's right against his skin._

_“Wait…Dan wait...” Laurel's voice is pitched so low Walter might have missed it any other night. Tonight she might as well be speaking through a megaphone. He won't look._

_“What? What’s wrong?” Dan’s voice has the same low breathy quality, like he’s been running, but Walter knows better. The sound of it makes the stiff flesh between his legs throb and he stuffs a fist into his mouth to muffle any sound. He’s disgusted with himself. He won’t touch, won’t sink to that low._

_“I think Walter is awake.” He freezes and feels all the color drain from his body. She must be a mind reader, he knows he hasn’t moved. She shouldn’t be able to tell. “Walter?” It’s obscene, wrong, how she speaks his name even as he knows Daniel is still inside her._

_“Laurie!”_

_“Walter?” He won't look, won't give in to her licentious ways. Wanting is one thing, but it’s action, giving in, that would really damn him. He has to be better than that, if not for himself, than for who he used to be._

_“Laurie, stop!”_

_“Why? You want him too. Don’t lie.” Walter chokes on his fist and his disobedient prick twitches at the implication._

_“Laurie!”_

_“Say his name. Dan, say it!” **No, please** , he thinks. Because he can fight Laurel, can cast her in the guise of his mother and persevere, but he has never been able to cast Daniel in such a light. Good, wholesome, honest Daniel, who smiled too easily, who was friendly from the start where all others had treated Rorschach with uneasy stares. Walter could catalouge his years in Daniel’s smiles, and had ached for the 8 years they were more absent than not. Rorschach had hated Daniel’s softness, saw it as weakness, but Walter had only ever wanted to revel in it. If Daniel reaches for him, he will be lost. He will look. He will touch. He will damn them all. **Don’t!**_

_“Say it!” He hears Daniel take a deep breath and resign himself to giving over to Laurel’s moods once again. For a moment Walter almost hates him._

_“Rorschach? You awake buddy?” He wants to lie, pretend to be asleep, but he knows that he’s been made. No sense in delaying the inevitable. He rolls over, to look across the room at the pair of them. Laurel is on her back, eyes bright and focused on him. They make him think of a cat, or a wolf maybe, predatory and nocturnal. Only half of her face is illuminated by the sliver of moonlight coming in through the blinds, but he can see the soft twist of her mouth. He takes his fist out of his mouth and pillows both hands under his head. He won't touch._

_“My name is Walter. Rorschach is dead.”_

_“Oh, yeah ok.” Daniel is over her, broad back visible, naked, shiny with perspiration. The cheap motel comforter is pushed down to his hips, covering where they are joined. He still has his glasses on, one lense glaring white, the other translucent. His brown eyes are dark, fathomless and staring straight at him, boring through Walter like a beetle. His whole body trembles from the intensity in that gaze. “Walter…”_

_Laurie chooses that moment to, simultaneously, push Daniel’s torso up and away from her, exposing her naked chest, and pull his lower half deeper into her. It’s aggressive, charged with primal energy, and Dan gasps as she clenches around him. But he doesn’t take his eyes off Walter. She makes the move twice more, fucking herself with Daniel’s body before he breaks eye contact, tips his head back and groans. Walter can’t muffle the sound he makes, wretched and terrified. She’s still watching him, hawk eyes fixed on her prey._

_They find their rhythm again, Daniel thrusting down at the same time Laurel arches up. The moonlight casts it all in a monochrome, making the act seem surreal and far away. Walter’s ears are full with the sound of his rabbit fast heartbeat, eyes rapidly moving over the joined figures. Daniel bends his head, kisses Laurel, sucks her tongue into his mouth and Walter finds himself groaning along with her._

_“Daniel…” The name slips from his lips before he can stop it and suddenly he is pinned by two sets of eyes. Daniel’s pace is speeding up, hips pressing ever faster against the siren beneath him. She throws one long leg up and over his shoulder, pulling him deeper with the leg still wrapped around his hips, kicking the comforter away at the same time. In this position Walter can see where Dan is sunken into her, can see everything._

_“Say his name, Dan. He’s close.” Her words bring him up short, and he realises he has one freckled hand wrapped around his engorged cock. His strokes are measured, firm and near painful, but he can’t stop. She’s right, he is close. When Daniel gasps his name into Laurel’s knee, Walter comes apart, shaking and sobbing, climax ripped from him._

The sound of a door slamming in the other room forces Walter back to the present. He looks down at his hands, rubbed raw by the brush, red and bleeding near the knuckles. The water in the sink is pink. He’s also hard. He scowls down at himself and briefly considers taking the nail brush to the shameful organ that is, once again, proving it has a mind of its own. But to do that he’d have to touch it, and down that road he knew lay only disgrace. Instead he sets the brush down on the edge of the sink, pulls the stopper and watches the blood tinted water circle the drain. His hands ache and he focuses on the pain and his breathing until his affliction subsides. He can not hide from his traveling companions forever. With one last glance at the hideous face in the mirror he turns to rejoin them in the main room. 

The motel must have been founded in the 70’s, orange squared off chairs and shag carpeting competing for the ugliest part of the room. There is a minimalist bedside table separating the two full size beds and the lamp sitting on it casts the room in a warm yellow light. It isn’t the nicest place the three of them have stayed since being on the road, but Walter has definitely seen worse, lived in worse. Laurel is nowhere to be found but Daniel is sitting on the end of one bed, staring slack jawed into the television. Whatever is happening seems to have completely entranced him. 

“Daniel…?” When the brunette fails to acknowledge him, Walter moves closer to see what is so enthralling on the television. Some kind of Science Fiction programming, Japanese from the look of it and he is both amused and exasperated. “Seriously, Daniel? Haven't seen enough giant monsters? Watch something else.” He reaches to take the remote from his friend.

“Don’t. This...don’t change the channel.” Daniel still hasn’t taken his eyes away from the television.

“Daniel…” 

“It’s not a TV show. This is live coverage from San Francisco. Laurie just went to try and call her mom.” For a moment, Walter is struck completely dumb.

“What?” It’s unbelievable. He can’t believe it, wont, even as he turns his eyes back to the television. The monster is huge and grey with a face that looks like an axe blade. Golden Gate Bridge looks like paper as this thing, creature, monster tears through it. The footage shows the cars on the bridge, people's screams muffled by the sound of twisting cables and dragonesque roars. In the shot they are playing on loop Walter can see the tiny hand of a child in the backseat of a maroon Chrysler just before it disappears under a grey talon. It’s too reminiscent of giant tentacles and Walter has to turn away from the footage, reign himself in, or he knows he’ll put his fist through the screen.

“Do you think Ozymandias has anything to do with it?” The gravel in his voice seems to jolt Daniel out of his trance. He shakes himself and runs a hand through his hair.

“Adrian? I don’t know, maybe. But what would be the point? I mean, the world is at peace why drop another monster on it?” 

“Drive the point home. Maybe.” Walter shrugs and turns back to the television. The footage is different now, shot from further away, allowing the viewer to really take in the scope of the monster, the blade like sail on its back, its multiple arms and thick mountainous legs. It doesn’t look anything like Veidt’s brightly colored squid. For all the damage it had done it was soft looking, scary for all the ways it didn’t make sense. This monster is a very different kind of horror. 

“No, I don’t see it. This. This is something else, I…” before Daniel can finish, Laurel barrels in the door. She drops to her knees in front of the television and stuffs a video cassette into the complimentary VCR. She takes the remote from Dan’s hand and hits the record button.

“There was a video store around the corner. I...this is important. We need to have this. Need to remember…” The machine begins to whir and the little red light comes on signaling it has begun tapping. Laurel lets out a breath and slumps back against Daniel’s legs. 

“Laurie, did you get ahold of your mother?” 

“...No. It, it was a dead line.” Dan’s hand settles on her shoulder, twines in her long hair, and she leans her head against his leg, eyes sad and locked on the screen. 

All three of them watch the program for a while longer, taking it all in, in their own ways. When Dan’s free hand reaches out and intertwines his fingers with Walter’s, rubs his thumb over the sore raw parts of his knuckles and tugs him down to sit next to him on the bed, he goes willingly. Nothing is right in the world anymore, so maybe this isn’t so wrong. Everything is changed, himself most especially. He misses when things were black and white.

“I’m sure she’s fine Laurel.” He know his voice offers little comfort, but it's a start.


	2. Chapter 2

They name the species Kaiju, because it’s the only name that will fit. The first is Trespasser. Due to a newly unified world, governments and militaries respond quickly and the monster is dead in 3 days. There is a parallel dimension where it takes 6 days, and three nukes, but that is not this dimension. Thousands of people lose their lives, but the casualties could be worse. One of those people is Sally Jupiter, but her name is just one amongst many, and few mourn the passing of the last of the Minutemen. California does much the same as New York did, clean the streets, bury the dead, move forward. The method is amended to include, “Pray that it doesn't happen again”. Adrian Veidt knows better than to rely on prayers. He’s met a god, and found him to be more ambivalent than is helpful. 

Humanity’s luck holds only 6 months before it happens again. They name this one Hundun, and it reigns terror down on the Philippines for a consistent 4 days. When it finally goes down, Manila is little more than rubble. Veidt Enterprises begins work on the Kaiju Alert Program and recruiting scientists who might be able to find a solution to the Kaiju problem. Caitlin Lightcap and Lars Gottleib are such scientists and Adrian Veidt wastes no time in acquiring them. 

It’s 4 months later when Kaiceph attacks. President Nixon, along with the rest of the UN, ready to show it’s dedication to world peace, throws its support in with Veidt Industries and the Pan Pacific Defense Core is born. The Jaeger program is only months behind. Stacker Pentecost is sent as a military liaison to head the project.

It is the night before Scissure will attack Sydney, Although neither Adrian or Caitlin are aware of that, both poring over blueprints, reports and printouts. It's been years since Adrian has had to think this hard about anything and he finds it thrilling, the challenge of finding a solution to a worldwide epidemic. And this time, he doesn’t have the luxury of time or foresight. He tries not to think about how responsible he may or may not be for all of it. 

“We still have the problem of radiation leaks into the Conn-Pod.” He says, rubbing at his eyes. The digital display on his watch is reading 3:07am.

“Gottlieb seems to think it's acceptable odds.” 

“Well I disagree. If we are going to ask people to fight Kaiju in these things, they better be perfect. I won't spend money for less than perfect.”

“Worried your pilots are going to sue you?” Caitlin is looking at him from across the table, pen stuck in her mouth. There is a smirk playing at the edges of her mouth, glasses sitting low on her nose. The long conference table is covered in the evenings papers. 

“I don’t want anyone to accuse me of giving them cancer. Terrible press. Amend the designs to include shielding for the radiation.” 

“Hmm. I agree with you, Adrian. Now sell it to Lars.” Adrian shakes his head, it’s late and tomorrow they have more tests to run on more sample pilots. He’s not as young as he used to be and watching spritely Caitlin go night after night on nothing but black coffee and her OCD medications is beginning to wear him out. Too many variable and not enough time to fix them all. “What do you think of a two pilot system? To balance the neural load?”

When she says this she looks up at him again, genuinely interested in his opinion. It’s genius really, if it would work. Poor Adam Casey might have benefited from it certainly. 

“Now, why didn’t I think of that?” he answers, smile spreading over his face. He really couldn’t have picked better.

***  
It’s 5:30pm on Friday, December 4th, 1987. He has a paper bag full of canned groceries and this week's check in his coat pocket. The bus was on time and will deliver him 3 blocks away from home in exactly 5 minutes. All in all, Charlie Travers decides it’s not a bad way to end the week. Well except for the Kaiju attack yesterday. His stop is coming up, so he reaches up and grabs the chain giving it a careful yank. The brakes hiss as the bus comes to a stop. Pulling his fedora down to cover his face a bit, and flipping the collar of his pea-coat up Charlie exits the bus.

The neighborhood is a bit suburban for his tastes, complacent and lazy, but Sam and Sandra had liked it. It’s quiet and no one bothers them, though they do get a few strange looks from their neighbors. Alternative lifestyles and all that. He turns left and heads toward home.

There are children building snow forts in the driveway across the street from the house he shares with his companions, twin girls with blonde bouncy curls. Imogene and Maude. Horrible names, good kids. 6 months ago the girls put a baseball through one of the windows, fessed up immediately. Cut grass to make up for it. They wave as he approaches, and he tips his hat like a gentleman should. 

“Hello Mr. Travers! Better look out, Sam and Sandra are at it again.” Not news, but he nods to his tiny informants in thanks. It’s a regular ritual these days, coming home last and later in the day. The girls keep him posted, and he never walks into the house unprepared. 

The lock on the front door is gummy as usual and he has to wiggle the key a bit to get it to turn. He considers breaking it. Inside he can hear the muffled sounds of his companions in a heated argument and sighs. He hangs his hat and coat on the hook by the door, abandoning the disguise of Charlie Travers. When he looks in the oval mirror Laurel had hung by the door Walter Kovacs' empty, blue eyes stare back. This is who he is now. 47 years old, still ugly, still stone faced, still ginger although bits of grey have started to show in his stubble. Gathering up the paper bag full of soup and canned vegetables he makes his way to the kitchen, pushing the swinging door open warily.

“We were heroes, goddamnit!” Laurel slams her fist into the kitchen table, teeth barred. Her voice is shrill, vehement, and full of the strength of her convictions. Despite being settled here, just outside Chicago, in a quiet neighborhood Silk Spectre has lost none of her fire. 

“Well, we aren’t heroes anymore Laurie! Jesus did you forget about Karnak?!” Daniel is standing near the sink on the other side of the room, arms outstretched as if to call attention to his aging body, hidden under brown cardigans and occasional flannels. He’s in better shape than he had been 2 years ago but his glory days are well behind him. In this environment atrophy is inevitable, but, Walter has to admit that a quiet life on the sidelines suits Daniel. 

“What are we arguing about?” Another voice in the mix is probably a mistake, but Walter knows if he leaves the pair of them to it alone Daniel will end up sleeping on the couch. Which means he’ll be sleeping in the chair. Laurel has told him time and again that he’s more than welcome to stay in their communal bed despite Daniel being “in the dog house” but he’s never managed to sleep there without Daniel. He loves Laurel in his own way, but Daniel has had his loyalty for more than 20 years.

“Oh good you’re home. Maybe you can talk some sense into her, before she gets herself killed!” Dan turns his back to them and goes back to what he must have been doing before the argument escalated, washing dishes. He doesn’t relax, and Walter recognizes the prepared stance of a man waiting for an attack. Jaw set, muscles tight, and ready to respond. 

“Don’t talk about me like I’m crazy!” 

“Why not? After the last half hour I’m pretty certain you’re certifiable.” 

“Daniel…” He tries to interject, keep the train from derailing completely, but he has the sinking feeling he’s 35 minutes too late. The gun is loaded, cocked...

“Better crazy than a goddamn COWARD!” And Laurel has just pulled the trigger. Everything seems to move in slow motion after that. Daniel’s fist closing around the glass in the sink; Walter moving across the room to intercept him. He clamps his hand around his partner’s wrist just as Daniel turns around.

“Do NOT throw that at Laurel.” He knows he’s using Rorschach’s voice and it might be overkill, but Daniel reacts as expected and freezes in his arms. Laurel’s eyes are wide, angry and unafraid, almost daring Daniel to throw the glass at her. Walter tightens his grip on his partner’s wrist until he’s sure it's becoming uncomfortable. It’s another breath before Dan yanks his arm free and throws the glass into the sink where it breaks against the porcelain surface. It’s the helplessness and the rage and the fear, all boiling over. Walter looks from him to Laurel and back again, trying to gauge his next move.

“You know what Dan? Fine. Fine! You want to hide out here in Midwest suburban paradise, go ahead. But if everyone hides the Kaiju are going to march straight across this continent, destroying everything as they go. Personally, I’d rather fight them then sit around doing nothing.” Her voice never loses it’s accusatory edge. Daniel looks away from her and out the window over the sink. “I’ve packed my stuff up already, it’s in the truck. I’m going.” 

“Laurie…” Whatever Dan is about to say, Laurie doesn’t wait to hear it. She leaves the room in a flurry of long, dark hair, and barely suppressed disappointment. Walter can hear her grab her coat and keys and head out the door. The entire house is silent for a moment before Dan speaks again. “You going to leave too?”

Walter sighs. Mending rifts, resolving conflicts, this isn’t something he’s good at. He can’t break fingers to fix things here. Instead he places one hand on Daniel’s shoulder, the other curled around his upper arm.

“No, no plans to leave. You want to stay here, we stay. You want to fight Kaiju, we go and fight Kaiju. Whatever you want, Daniel.” Daniel’s hand takes the one resting on his shoulder and pulls him closer. “But Laurel has a point. Someone has to fight Kaiju.” 

“We are supposed to be dead. If we go sign up for the PPDC, of which Adrian is sort of in charge, he’ll kill us. Hell, last I checked you were a wanted criminal, Walter. If we come out of hiding we’re dead men.”

“Stay in hiding might end up dead men anyway. World’s ending, Daniel.” It’s a good solid argument, and he can see that Daniel is already worn down. He almost feels bad, knowing he’s going to be the one who once again convinces Daniel. Poor Laurel hasn’t yet learned how to lead him to his own conclusions, and Walter has plenty of practice. When Daniel huffs a tiny laugh and shakes his head Walter knows he’s won. 

“Do you and her plan these things? I swear I never stand a chance.” There is a resigned smile on his face when he turns to face his red-headed companion and it throws his weary features into focus. Walter catalogs them all with the meticulousness of a man who once played detective. 

Touch of grey hair at the temples. 

_If he’s not careful, it’ll look like Blake’s._

Crows feet starting around his eyes, hidden by his glasses. 

_From smiling or squinting, reminiscent of Hollis Mason._

Laugh lines at the mouth. 

_Years and years of easy smiles. It's the face of a man with many loves._

“We can still stay here, Daniel.” Another tiny laugh and Daniel is kissing him. It’s always a shock at first, how easy this is, being kissed. He freezes stiff like always, for a moment before relaxing, giving in to the pressure of Daniel’s mouth. It’s gotten easier over time, Daniel is gentle, always asking for reciprocation but never demanding it. Walter still hasn’t managed to initiate any intimacy, but he’s grown better at accepting it. Daniel runs a hand through red curls before he pulls away and rests his head against Walter’s. 

“Laurie is already in the truck, might as well go grab what I can before she really does leave us here.” They leave the kitchen together, but as Daniel is going up stairs to begin packing Walter stops him with a hand on his arm.

“Hurm. Check left hand side of closet. Green duffel. Packed both our things in it. Enough for a while at least.” With that he dons Charlie Travers’ coat and hat and strolls out the front door, paper bag of canned food in one hand, Daniel’s laughter trailing after him. 

Laurie is sitting in the passenger side of the truck, pipe in one delicate hand, a scowl on her pretty face. She climbs out of the truck as Walter approaches and holds the door so he can climb in. If the three of them are in the truck, Walter always sits in the middle. He tells them it’s because his legs fit better than theirs, but Laurie suspects it’s his way of keeping them both within reach. She empties her pipe on the snow and follows in after him. 

“So what’s the verdict?” 

“Think I’d be here if he said no?” 

“You sonofabitch. How is it always you that convinces him?” She’s smiling as she says this and Walter finds himself biting one side of his mouth to keep from returning her smile. He doesn’t have a nice smile like hers or Daniel’s, always ends up looking more like a leer. He suspects his unsavory roots are responsible for it. “From now on you can do all the arguing with him. I never get anywhere.”

“Easier when they're worried you’ll break their fingers. Or nose.” 

“Pfft. Dan isn’t worried you’re going to break his nose.”

“Should be. Break would only make it look bigger. Should be very worried.” Laurel laughs at his statement and Walter is proud that his face doesn’t flinch but stays neutral. Daniel is coming down the front porch stairs, green army duffel slung over his shoulder. He’s wearing the hat and gloves Walter gifted him last Christmas, a brown andean with a pattern that had looked like an owl. The gloves had bits of leather on the fingers so they gripped better. It was a sensible gift, nothing frivolous. 

“You’re an ass.” 

“Hurm.” Dan chucks the duffel into the bed of the truck alongside Laurel’s and climbs in the driver seat. 

“Ok I’m here, where are we going?”

“I say we go where Veidt is. Sign up at the source.” When Walter fails to offer a different destination, Dan lets out a deep sigh and shifts the truck into reverse.

“New York it is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So updates are going to kind of be all over the place. And i know this is kind of moving a bit slow but bare with me it'll get more interesting from here i swear. i hope.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I have no beta. If anyone catches any errors please feel free to point them out. It's been years since I wrote anything so I'm pretty rusty. :) also I know this has been kinda slow moving and slow to update and I'm sorry. Bare with me. I love you.

They drive for seven hours on i-80 before stopping at a tiny 2 star motel for the evening. Laurie hates places like this, too reminiscent of their year long road trip, but anything fancier makes Walter uncomfortable. It’s a dumpy place with an ugly purple carpet that has a weird stain in the corner. The beds are sure to be lumpy and the coffee maker is broken, but they took cash for the evening and didn’t ask for I.D. She’s watching different cars pull up out the room’s big window, sleazy drifters, hookers, business men too tired to look any further. 

“Going out.” Walter murmurs, coat collar up and scarf pulled up to cover the lower half of his face. It’s 11:30 at night and Laurie is super curious about where her patrol partner is going. Her costume is in the bottom of her bag; leather and kevlar jump-suit, strappy shoulder holster, domino mask and a red bandana for her hair. The bandana had been Dan’s idea, a feminine touch for a costume that admittedly would have made her father proud.

“Want some company?” Dan beats her to asking, his voice is hopeful, and it annoys her. He hasn’t patrolled with Walter in almost a year, leaving the Chicago skyline to the pair of them. She thinks that having to leave the Nite Owl moniker behind in Antarctica was what had finally done in Dan’s vigilante days. That and poor Hollis. And probably Adrian. 

“Hurm. No.” Walter gives them both a pointed look over his scarf. Make up, it says, and then he’s out the door. She hears Dan sigh and turn on the television, the soft sound of a Nostalgia add playing. 

It’s a few minutes before she feels Dan’s hands on her shoulders, his mouth against her neck when he whispers, “I’m sorry.” She knows if she turns toward him his face will reflect his sentiment, Dan never apologizes unless he is sincere. 

“Me too.” 

***  
Walter makes it back by 4 in the morning, knuckles bruised and carrying a box of doughnuts. They don’t ask. They don’t make it into the car til 7 or 8. Dan’s not in a hurry and Laurie wants a shower, with both her boys, so they all cram in the little stall, wash each others hair and pile out to get dressed. Laurie’s face is content, Walter’s is blank as usual, and Dan can’t help but be smiling at them. 

They’ve been in the car for 5 hours when the city comes into view and Dan glances at his partners. Laurie is awake staring out the window, watching cars zip past them, taking in how much of the skyline is different. Walter is asleep, pillowed against Laurie’s chest. She’s absentmindedly stroking his red hair, and to Dan she looks quite motherly. The pair of them have come quite a long way together, and, even though it had upset Walter at the time, Dan thinks removing himself from their patrol team was for the best.

“So, um, do we have an actual plan? Or are Sam and Sandra and Charlie just going to go sign up and hope for the best? Because honestly i don’t see why they’d take us. Just an observation…” 

“I think we should use our real names.” She says and Dan hits the brakes so hard it sends Walter pitching face first into the dashboard. 

“Ehnnk!”

“What?!” The octave of his screech would have made an owl proud. Cars are beeping at them now, but Dan isn’t sure if he should put his foot back on the gas peddle. 

“Jesus Christ Dan! What are you doing? Pull of the road!”

“No! What are you thinking Laurie?! I mean..”

“Daniel! Get. Off. Road.” And once again it is Walter who gets through to Dan, and Laurie really is curious if it’s a fear of broken bones. 

***

Half an hour later Daniel Dreiberg, Laurie Juspeczyk and Walter Kovacs walk into the lobby of Veidt industries. It sounds like the build up to a terrible joke, and Dan still isn’t sure this is the right choice. Hell, he’s spent a good portion of the last year making sure they were off the radar. 

“This is so stupid!” He stage whispers and Laurie elbows him in the gut for his trouble. 

“How do you want to do this, Laurel?” Walter’s leading the trio at the moment with Dan bringing up the rear. 

“We could go by notoriety. Leave the best for last?” They're almost at the check in counter. A bored young man is sitting behind the desk, clicking away at a computer. If he's noticed them he's made no show of it. 

“Fine by me.” Walter takes a step back and allows Dan to move to the front of the line. He waits for Laurel to follow Dan and smirks when she scoffs at him. Whether she likes it or not Rorschach is more memorable here. 

When Dan reaches the counter the bored young man glances at him without smiling. 

“Do you have an appointment?”

“Uh well no, but…”

“Are you here to see a PPDC recruiter?” 

“Yes, i’m, that is…”

“Name?” Through the entire exchange the boys face doesn't shift and his fingers continue typing. It makes Dan think of androids or cybermen and he swallows nervously before answering. 

“Daniel Dreiberg.” The young man’s fingers falter for a moment and he turns his eyes toward the screen.

“Is that E-I after the R?”

“Yes.”

“Berg with an E, or with a U?” 

“E.” 

“Alright mister Dreiberg, one of our recruiters will be with you shortly, please take a seat.” The young man smiles then, but it's empty, meant to encourage Dan to shuffle on. “Next please.”

Laurie steps up expecting the same song and dance. She debates using Jupiter briefly to expedite the process, but decides against it.

“Hi, I’m Laurie Juspeczyk, and I would like to speak with a recruiter as well.” The automatons eyebrow twitches and his eyes glance at her mole before settling back on her eyes. If he recognizes her he gives no other indication. 

“Can you...can you spell that please?” Laurie smiles as she complies and then takes her seat next to Dan. The receptionist looks at both of them together as though trying to recall where he might have seen them. When he turns back to the last person at the counter, Walter has removed his hat and has set it on the desk.

“Walter. Kovacs.” Dan can see the gears in the kids head come to a screeching halt. His fingers stop typing completely and he just stares at the expressionless face in front of him. With the coat and scarf and dead eyed stare Walter looks a lot like his televised mugshot. 

“Is that...is…” The boy swallows and coughs to clear his throat before continuing in barely masked fear. “Is that with a C-S or with an X?” 

“C. S. Is Veidt in?” 

“Um...Mister Veidt is in, but you need…”

“Might want to call him down, let him know we’re here.” With that Walter steps away from the counter, puts his hat back on and takes his seat next to Laurie. Seeing all three sitting together, who they are becomes painfully obvious and the receptionist scrambles to call up to Adrian’s office. 

“Did you need to scare him? Jesus Walter, he looked like he was about to soil himself.” Dan chastises. Sitting next to him Laurie is barely containing her amusement and Dan feels his irritation draining away at her smile. 

“Don't know what you're talking about.” Walter continues to stare at his shoes but his lips quirk for a second.

“Of course not, Terror of Underworld.” An elevator chimes in the distance, just as Laurie bursts out laughing. 

“Well, I am pleased to see you all in better spirits than you were last time we were all together.” The familiar voice kills Laurie's laughter faster than a giant squid and Dan is suddenly absolutely sure this is the wrong idea. Walter clenches his fists and grinds his teeth, at the back of his mind Rorschach writhes like Loki in chains. 

Dan recovers first. “Hello Adrian.”


End file.
